


Easy Out

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (please don't read this), Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, i dont have to explain myself to you, poorly translated arabic, thank u google translate, this is all emmas fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: However many years down the line, Hamid wakes up in a hotel room with an old friend.





	Easy Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hinotorihime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinotorihime/gifts).



> please. do not read this. do not look. at me. Working Title: _Well If You Won't Write Those Nice Things Then I'll Write The Continuation_

There’s a weight on top of Hamid.

(“Hamid?” Zolf asks, rough hands holding Hamid’s head up, “You awake?”)  
(“Hamid,” Zolf whispers, arm around Hamid’s shoulders, “it’s okay.”)  
(“Hamid!” Zolf laughs, almost toppling over as Hamid crashes into him for a hug, “Be careful!”)

Zolf’s asleep, head heavy on Hamid’s chest, arm slung across his waist. In all honesty, Hamid doesn’t know how this happened. He’s not complaining.

(“Are you going to be okay?” Zolf asks, pouring holy saltwater over Hamid’s wounds and pressing his hands into them.  
“I’ll be fine,” Hamid answers through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain.)  
(“I’m sorry, I should have— was that okay?” Hamid asks, pulling away from an impulsive hug.  
“It’s fine,” Zolf answers, not looking him in the eye.)  
(“This is okay, right? You’re okay with this?” Hamid asks, breathlessly, a hand on Zolf’s cheek.  
Zolf drags him in for another kiss instead of answering with words.)

Zolf is warm against him, and that’s new. Everything feels cool, now, like Hamid’s burning up; like his dragon heritage has replaced his blood with molten iron.

(“Zolf?” Hamid asks, dazed and aching, “What’s happening?”)  
(“Zolf,” Hamid confesses, blind and shaking and in shock, “I’m scared.”)  
(“Zolf!” Hamid cries, rushing forward to hug his friend, “You came!”)

Hamid doesn’t look like a dragon, but he doesn’t look like a halfling anymore. His teeth are too sharp; his face is too pointed; the brass has spread up his neck and his face. His clothes have to be well-cut to make up for the scars they’re hiding.

(“You’re beautiful,” Zolf says.  
“أنت جميلة,” Hamid replies after a beat. That’s what he’s doing, he’s translating, Zolf just wants to know how it translates.  
“أنت جميلة,” Zolf echoes, but he says it with too much heart behind it, with too much earnesty in his voice for it to be an echo alone.)

Hamid sighs and closes his eyes. He’s comfortable, he’s safe.

(“أريد أن أقبلك,” Hamid translates, heart beating into his throat.  
“Can I?”  
“من فضلك يا إلهي—”)

“Morning,” Zolf croaks, squeezing Hamid’s waist. Hamid breathes in, counts to four, breathes out. He’s been awake for a long time, but it gives Zolf an easy out. Zolf moves off of Hamid, sitting up. “Hamid?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. Breath in, count to four, breath out. Easy out. Hamid feels a tentative hand tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. The hand lingers on Hamid’s jaw, gentle and unsure.

(There’s an ugly scar winding its way down Hamid’s arm.)  
(Part of his face is burned and brassy; there are matching burns on his legs.)  
(The glass from the shop window in Cairo left a myriad of gashes on his back.)

Zolf laughs softly. He whispers, “Beautiful,” like he’s reminding himself; like he can’t believe he’s forgotten. And, maybe when they met, but now? Hamid can't imagine someone thinking that. Especially not seeing him first thing in the morning, when Hamid doesn’t have an illusion to hide his face behind.

(“قلبي,” Hamid whines, his fingers digging into Zolf’s shoulder.  
“How’s that translate?” Zolf teases, and Hamid more feels than sees the smirk pressed into the hollow of his throat.  
“It doesn’t,” Hamid lies.)

Hamid blinks up at him, forgetting to feign sleep. Zolf doesn’t jerk away like Hamid was expecting. He was expecting apologies and excuses, but Zolf just smiles at him sleepily and says, “Hey.”

(“Hey,” Hamid protests weakly, “that’s not- that’s not fair.”  
“Do you want me to stop?” Zolf asks, and he sounds _so_ godsdamn pleased with himself.  
“Don’t,” Hamid pleads, and he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of how he’s acting, “don’t you _dare.”)_

Hamid responds, “Good morning.” Zolf mumbles something incoherent and puts his head back down on Hamid’s chest. Hamid can’t help but laugh. “Comfortable?” he asks, and it’s so domestic it makes his heart skip a beat.

(“أنت لى,” Hamid breathes, and he doesn’t know how much he believes it, but it feels good to say.  
“Translation?” Zolf suggests.  
_“Mine,”_ Hamid murmurs, and Zolf seems so pleased with that that Hamid doesn’t even feel embarrassed.)

Zolf answers, “I’m gonna go back to sleep.” Hamid doesn’t know how much of this is a fluke and how much is drowsiness. This easy affection can’t be genuine. It’s most likely because Zolf hasn’t woken up yet. 

(“I love you,” Zolf murmurs after a moment of silence.  
“أحبك,” Hamid responds, reflexive, barely awake.  
“أحبك,” Zolf echoes softly.)

Hamid informs him, “I want breakfast. You’re going to have to get off.” It’s another easy out. 

(Hamid wakes up first.)  
(Zolf is still tucked into his side, weighing him down.)  
(He’s warm, and it makes Hamid feel safe.)

Zolf doesn’t take it. Instead, he snickers, “I already got off. So did you.” He half-sits up in order to give Hamid a smug look. “A _few_ times.” Hamid sputters for a second before just pushing Zolf away. Zolf laughs. 

(Everything that happened doesn’t seem real.)  
(But Zolf is there, his head on Hamid’s chest and his arm across Hamid’s waist.)  
(Hamid’s sure it won’t last, so he doesn’t let himself go back to sleep.)

As Hamid makes to get out of bed, Zolf grabs his hand. Still laughing, he says, “Sorry, sorry. Poor taste. Can you stay here?” The words are casual, but Hamid’s sure the question is serious.

(“Stay,” Hamid whines, holding tight to Liliana.  
“I have class, Hamid,” she tells him, and she’s gone.)  
(“Stay?” Hamid suggests, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
The half-elf shakes her head, already halfway to the hotel room door, and she’s gone.)  
_(Stay,_ Hamid thinks, fading quickly from consciousness.  
(Zolf runs his thumb absentmindedly across Hamid’s hip, and then Hamid falls asleep.)

Hamid sighs. He says, “Okay,” and it comes out soft, like he’s not sure of what he’s saying. The atmosphere changes from light to serious, and that isn’t what Hamid intended. He smiles and adds, “If you’re sure you want me to stay,” because he’s sure that Zolf _doesn’t_ want him to, not really. Yet another easy out. Zolf’s smile drops.

(“Are you finished?” Zolf asks, voice frigid and emotionless, daring Hamid to keep talking.)  
(“Let me make a clean break,” Zolf implores, weary and damaged, asking Hamid to let him be.)  
(“Don’t even know why I was invited,” Zolf grumbles, eyeing the door, telling Hamid he wants to leave.)

“Of course I’m sure.”

(All of Hamid’s words die in his throat, and he doesn’t take the dare.)  
(Hamid just nods silently, letting him be.)  
(“Because you were part of the team,” Hamid points out, asking him to stay.)

He says it like it’s the only possible option. He says it like the idea of leaving never occurred to him. He says it like Hamid is an idiot for even suggesting such a thing.

(“Are you drunk?” Zolf asks, and it’s the first time they’ve met up in years.  
“I think so,” Hamid mumbles, “I’m tired.”  
Hamid leans his head on Zolf’s shoulder, eyes closing, and Zolf doesn’t push him away.)

Hamid doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t quite know how.

(“You’re very comfortable,” Hamid informs Zolf during the third year of these reunions.  
“Thank you?” Zolf replies, an arm around Hamid’s shoulder to keep him from falling.  
Hamid doesn’t answer, just curls in closer.)

After a beat of silence, Zolf shifts his hand so that he can gently squeeze Hamid’s. “Stay,” he says again, except this time, it’s sincere. “I want you to.”

(“You always do this,” Zolf remarks during the fifth year of these reunions.  
“You always let me,” Hamid counters, and he’s sober, but it’s just habit at this point.  
Zolf doesn’t have a response to that.)

There’s a weight on Hamid’s chest.

(“You look pretty tired. Do you want to stay the night here?” Zolf asks after the fifth reunion has wound down.  
“I don’t have a room,” Hamid points out; he can just catch a late train.  
“You can stay in mine,” Zolf offers.)

Zolf’s half-asleep, head heavy on Hamid’s chest, hand loosely intertwined in Hamid’s own. In all honesty, Hamid doesn’t know how this happened.

(“I love you.”  
“أحبك.”  
“No, I’m just telling you.”)

He’s not complaining.

(“انا احبك ايضا.”)

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to google translate for the arabic, s/o to hinotorihime for the idea. ngl i'm just embarrassed abt this bc I Know You People and also bc I Am. A Small, and i know that means most people won't wanna read this bc i am. A Small. so like. hhhhhh. please don't mention this fic to me or i might die of embarrassment. thanks.


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